


Growing Season

by zinke



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Series, Prequel, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-04
Updated: 2006-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: No matter how diligently you prepare for this, there"s a learning curve, for everyone. You"re not the only one who’s feeling this way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> onflict resolution is highly overrated, so there will be none of that here. While these were written and intended to be a prequel for an upcoming story, these stories can be read as stand-alones. Of course, it’ll be more satisfying, for you and for me, if you decide to read what comes next in ‘Fruits of Communion’. Just my humble opinion…
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta, the wonderful Amara—extra milk and cookies for her at snack time!

1\. Josh and Donna

Thursday February 8, 2007  
The White House  
8:23 pm

“You're back,” Natalie, his assistant, said unnecessarily as he stomped through the ante room on a direct, and what he hoped would be uninterrupted course for his office. Unfortunately that was not to be. 

Rising from her desk, she trailed him inside, reviewing the litany of messages that had been left in the short time he'd been gone. “Sam and Lou need five minutes as soon as you have them, Amy Gardner was here looking for the latest revisions to the defense spending bill and asked that, and I quote, ‘as soon as you find it in that blast zone you call a desk, can you send it to her office?’ She apparently needs it for tomorrow's meeting with Murphy, Hale, and Berryhill.” 

Coming to stand in front of his desk, he braced his hands against its edge and bowed his head, the roar of his thoughts all but drowning out the sound of her voice as she continued running through the seemingly never-ending list.

“Oh, and the Speaker called again asking for some time tomorrow to discuss additional concerns regarding the VP confirmation.” Josh flinched slightly as her final words broke through the haze, zeroed in and touched him in a place that was still, months later, sensitive and raw. 

Overwhelmed by his dark thoughts and increasingly tempestuous mood, it took Josh several moments to realize that Natalie had finally stopped talking and was awaiting his direction. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he fought against the overwhelming urge to scream. “Natalie, can you—I need a few minutes,” he said, hoping desperately that it would be enough to get her out of the room before he lost control completely.

Mercifully, she nodded crisply and without hesitation. “Of course. Let me know when you're ready.” Her reply was punctuated only by the soft ‘snick’ of the door latch sliding into place behind her. 

Opening his eyes slowly, he took note of his knuckles, tensed bone-white against the deep mahogany of the desk. In his left hand was the ‘eyes only’ briefing memo he’d need to spend most of the night reviewing, it’s manila cover pock-marked from where it was ruthlessly squashed between his fingers and the desk. With effort, he persuaded his hands to relax their grip, and straightening his aching back, he tossed the offending file onto the cluttered desktop with a frustrated sigh. 

He didn’t have time for this; he had a call sheet that, despite the hour, seemed to be growing rather than dwindling, reports to read in preparation for an early Cabinet meeting tomorrow morning, green staff members requesting his time and direction about god-only-knows what, and now this situation in Kazakhstan, getting worse by the day... 

He’d been hoping, mistakenly it now seemed, that he and Donna might be able to catch a late dinner and spend time together socially for the first time in three days. “So much for that,” he muttered angrily, kicking at the foot of the desk in an effort to appease the ache in his chest. He only succeeded, however, in giving himself a supplementary ache in his toe. Swearing under his breath, he hobbled to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, feeling the sudden, unwelcome sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he dropped his head back while unsuccessfully willing his eyes dry.

The sound of the office door opening, however, drove the frustration that had been simmering just below the surface to finally boil over. Without moving from his awkward sprawl in the chair he bit out furiously, “Damn it, Natalie, I said I needed a few minutes!” 

“Josh, please tell me you're not in here by yourself brooding. I’m going to have to say something to Natalie again about not letting you do that, aren’t I?” Head snapping forward, he took in the unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome sight of Donna closing his office door softly behind her. Unless… 

“She didn't call you down here, did she?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“No.” she replied slowly, narrowing her eyes in return. “I’m on my way out, and stopped by to see how long you thought you were going to be.” Taking in her heavy wool coat, the colorful scarf wound around her neck, and the briefcase draped across her shoulder, he belatedly realized that he had just inadvertently given himself away. “Why would Natalie have needed to call me, Josh?”

“Uh, because I asked her to?” he ventured uncertainly, shooting her a dimpled smile in the hopes that she would be satisfied and drop the subject.

No such luck. “No, Josh, you just said—bellowed, actually—that you wanted to be left alone.” Dropping her briefcase at her feet, she advanced into the office and took a seat on the couch across from him. “So, why don't you try again?”

Rising meteorically from his seat, he began to pace the short length of the room. “Donna, you know that there are some things I'm not authorized to talk to you about,” he hedged. 

Reaching out as he passed her for a third time, she gently took hold of his calf, effectively stilling him as she calmly raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes, I do. And I also know that there are a great many things that you simply don’t like to talk about. But I can't help you, Josh if you won't let me know what it is you need help with.” 

He could feel the warmth of her hand as she rubbed soft, rhythmic strokes against his pant leg, the sensation acting as a balm for his jangled nerves. Looking into her imploring eyes, he felt the moist stinging of his eyes return with a vengeance, now joined by an unwelcome tightness at the back of his throat. “I don't understand how I could have believed I was ready for this,” he choked out feebly. 

Pulling gently, she drew him by his leg to the couch, guiding him down to sit shoulder-to-shoulder beside her. Sliding her hand up to rest on his knee, she quirked an eyebrow before suggesting wryly, “You could blame it on that ego of yours.” 

He barked out a laugh, and rewarded her effort with a grateful smile as he took her hand from his knee and laced his fingers through hers.

Silently studying the tangle of their fingers in his lap, his expression grew increasingly somber as his doubt and discontent resurfaced. “I'm a domestic policy expert. I have no business being in that room.” 

“The Situation Room?” Josh simply nodded. Donna paused before proceeding further, taking careful note of the sharp set of his shoulders, the graying bruises under his eyes, and the pinched, unyielding line of his mouth. With her free hand she reached out to caress his stubbled cheek. “Josh, we’ve only been in office for two and a half weeks. You're being too hard on yourself. Again.” 

“I thought Leo'd be here with me,” he whispered, his voice heavy with pain and uncertainty.

“And if he were,” she admonished gently, “he'd tell you the same thing. No matter how diligently you prepare for this, there's a learning curve, for everyone. You're not the only one who’s feeling this way.”

“But they're all depending on me,” he countered, sounding for all the world like a lost little boy. 

Deciding to try a different tack, Donna turned to face him more fully, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You're right; Leo isn't here in the way you hoped he would be. But that doesn't mean that he isn't here,” she paused to run a hand through his hair, “or here,” she added moving the same hand to rest above his heart. 

He sat, motionless save the frantic blinking of his eyes as he once again found himself fighting back tears. The warmth of her hands on his body continued to calm him, slowing the panicked beat of his heart, relaxing his muscles and stilling his thoughts. Before he realized it, he was speaking. “How did I function without you for all those months?”

Donna blushed at the unexpected compliment, despite her recognizing it for what it was: an attempt to misdirect the conversation away from what was, for him, a difficult topic. Dropping her hand from his chest to cover those intertwined in his in lap, she volunteered softly, “Josh, there is someone else who would understand—”

He quickly extracted his hand from hers. “No.”

Expelling a huff of frustration, Donna merely watched as he rose to cross the office and lean awkwardly against his desk. “Josh...” 

He shook his head frenetically. “No! There are things I can't tell you Donna, and you're in the building! I sure as hell can't pick up the phone and talk to her about this stuff! Besides,” he added despondently as the last of the fight quickly drained out of him, “she's just gotten out there, and I'm sure she has better things to do than to provide advice to the newly minted and vastly under-qualified Chief of Staff for the Santos Administration.”

Closing her eyes, Donna steeled herself for the reaction she was certain would be forthcoming. “Or is it because you're still pissed that President Bartlet chose CJ over you?”

In the deafening silence that followed, Donna opened her eyes slowly to find that Josh had moved to sit behind his desk, putting both object and distance between them for protection. He’d schooled his expression into an impassive mask, and turned his eyes to conduct a detailed study of the blemishes on his desk blotter, all in a poorly executed attempt to shield the uncomfortable truth from her. “I’m going to have a late night,” he said stonily, putting a decisive end to their conversation.

Trying to hide her distress, Donna rose from the sofa and walked silently to the office door, turning her eyes from him only to reach for her briefcase. Josh remained motionless, looking lost and forlorn in the pool of weak, pale light from his desk lamp. 

She took a hesitant step back into the office, wanting to console him, but then thought better of it. Retreating to place her hand on the doorknob, she turned once more to regard him with what she hoped was a warm, reassuring expression. “Call me when you get home.”

And then she was gone, leaving him again alone in the dark, with his dark thoughts. 

Forcing himself to move after what felt like an eternity, he glanced at the clock and was shocked to find that only twenty minutes had passed since he'd returned from the disastrous briefing in the Situation Room. Scrubbing a hand through his wild hair, he did his best to shuffle all thoughts of Leo and Donna to the back of his mind. “Natalie?!?” he yelled out, rising from his seat.

The door quickly opened, his assistant peeking her head through the opening cautiously. “Yup?”

“Get Sam and Lou down here so I can find out what it is they've managed to screw up today.”

“Okay,” she said retracting her head.

“And Natalie?”

She reappeared almost instantly, her expression apprehensive. “Yeah?” 

The words tumbled out, rushing past his lips before he had the opportunity to change his mind. “I need you to get me the number for Claudia Jean Cregg in Santa Monica, when you get a chance.”

“Sure thing.”

 

*To be continued in Part Two.*


	2. Chapter 2

2\. CJ and Danny

Sunday February 11, 2007  
Santa Monica, California  
9:07am PST

“CJ, do you know where the waffle iron is?”

“We actually own a waffle iron?” she asked incredulously, straining her neck to peer at him over the top of the Sunday Times. 

“Yes,” he replied, trying not to sound insulted. “I did, and now we do.”

Returning her eyes to the paper she waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the dining room, which was barren save an unruly collection of moving boxes in a far corner. “Try one of the boxes over there.”

“Gee, CJ, you're just an overwhelming fount of information this morning, aren't you?” he snarked at her, reaching out to turn on the television on his way into the other room. 

“You know,” she said, eyes scanning the front page, “Josh must be pulling out what little hair he has left over this Kazakhstan thing.” 

A crash from the other room preceded his pinched reply. “What was that?”

“Josh and Kazakhstan,” she shouted as she settled herself more fully at the butcher block table. “China's refusing to attend any talks to which acting President Tarimov is invited, and to top it off is insisting that discussion of Issetov’s oil pipeline deal be on the agenda.”

“Ah-ha!!” he proclaimed, emerging from the dining room with the previously AWOL appliance held triumphantly aloft. 

“Way to go there, Sherlock. I'll have two.”

“Excuse me?!? First you mock my ‘WaffleMate’, and then you expect me to use it to feed you?”

She lowered the paper slightly to glare at him head on. “Oh, grow up.”

“CJ—”

“All right, all right! I grovel at your feet, and beg the benevolent mercy of the mighty Williams-Sonoma.”

“That's better,” he replied with satisfaction, setting the iron on the counter with a dull thud. 

Shaking her head, CJ returned her attention to the front page, humming softly to herself as Danny began to rummage through the still unfamiliar cabinets, searching for the necessary ingredients. Setting an unopened box of Bisquick on the counter, he allowed a momentary glance at the television before resuming his search for the remaining items. “Hey, CJ, turn up the volume; Sam's on Capitol Beat.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turned to the television just in time to glimpse Sam's chiseled profile before the camera feed switched to host Mark Gottfried. She fought to dispel the sudden queasiness of her stomach as she reached for the remote, Gottfried's voice gradually becoming audible as she depressed the button. 

...what, if any, exit strategy President Santos has?"

"Mark, let me start by saying that it is no secret that President Santos, while fully supporting the dedicated efforts of our troops overseas, has serious reservations about committing the United States to any long-term involvement in Kazakhstan. That said, our continued presence there is one of the only things preventing the initiation of all out war between Russia and China. It is not only in the best interests of United States, but in the best interests of the global community at large, to keep these two heavily-armed nuclear powers from engaging in a head-on conflict. Until a peaceful solution can be found...

CJ sat, transfixed, as Sam continued to vehemently defend the new administration's policy on a politically lethal situation it had never asked for, and certainly did not deserve in the first place. 

“Sounds like he's holding his own,” Danny commented casually as he cracked open an egg, dropping its contents into a waiting mixing bowl.

“Yeah,” CJ muttered tightly, her thoughts turned inward as she continued to fight the sudden, irrational panic that had bloomed the moment Sam's visage had appeared on-screen.

Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, Danny emerged from the kitchen looking concerned. “CJ? You okay?” When she didn't respond, he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, the contact finally snapping her out of her reverie. “CJ?”

“This is the first time in over eight years that I didn't know in advance who was slated for the Sunday morning shows.”

“Okay...” he drew out, trying and failing to understand her line of thought.

Absently, she reached out and began spinning her coffee mug in stuttering circles against the tabletop. “I'm just saying, I didn't know because that's not what I do anymore.”

Sitting down in the chair beside her, he allowed his eyes to momentarily drift back to the television, where a gaudy dish-soap commercial was now playing. “CJ, what's going on?”

“Hmm?” Looking up, she seemed to finally notice his close proximity. “Nothing,” she dismissed quickly. “Nothing,” she repeated, unsure exactly who it was she was trying to convince, Danny or herself. 

“You know, it's okay to be nervous about what comes next.”

“Danny, I'm not worried about us, at least not right now. I can’t guarantee anything after today, though,” she amended with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“That's not what I'm talking about and you know it.”

She took in his kindly expression, the way his eyes were repeatedly drifting back and forth between her and the television, and suddenly understood. “Are you crazy? No more 90 hour work weeks, no more making decisions with far-reaching geo-political implications, no more worrying about how something will spin, or how it will play in the press,” she said with a pointed look at Danny. “This is the beginning of the rest of my life, so why in God's name would you think this is something I’d be afraid of?”

“Because it’s a beginning, and no matter how many of ‘em you go through, they’re always going to be scary.”

“Danny, be serious. Franklin Hollis has given me an unbelievable opportunity to make some truly positive changes in this world. I should be excited, chomping at the bit to get started.”

“Yeah, you should. So, you gonna tell me why it is that you’re not?” 

“You don’t think I am?”

“No, I don’t, and don’t treat this like it’s the morning press gaggle, CJ. Answer the question.” 

Stunned by the harsh edge in his voice, she stopped, a petulant retort dying on her lips, only to be replaced with a woebegone entreaty. “I’m not.”

“You are and you know it!” he exclaimed in frustration. “This, right here, is one of the things we talked about before leaving DC. You’ve got to talk to me—not as the press secretary and not as a professional political operative. You, Claudia Jean Cregg, have to talk to me if this is going to work.”

“Okay…okay,” she stalled in between taking repeated deep, fortifying breaths. “You want to know…what exactly?”

Danny tried his best not to let his temper get the best of him again. “I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling right now. You took one look at Sam on the television, and it’s been ‘woe is me’ ever since.” He was forced to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the sudden ringing of the phone. “Just…why don’t you start by telling me why Capitol Beat’s become such a buzz kill?”

CJ stared at him, looking lost as the phone continued to shrill plaintively. “The voice mail’s not connected yet,” she finally advised after the sixth ring. Danny was unable to discern whether her motivation was to bring an end to the phone’s relentless audio-assault, or that she sensed a quick and convenient means of escaping their current discussion.

Giving her a last, pointed look, he rose from the chair. “We’re not finished with this,” he warned her as he put the handset to his ear. “Hello?…Hey, Josh, how ya doin’?” As he listened, Danny took passing note of the way CJ’s expression brightened once she learned who was on the line. “Nah, at the rate we’re going, it’ll be Easter before we’re unpacked…Sure, hold on just a second.” Cupping a hand over the receiver, he held the phone out to her. “It’s Josh,” he explained unnecessarily. 

Her eyes alight with an energetic curiosity he hadn’t seen since they’d left Washington, she bounced up from her seat to take the phone. “Josh?... Yeah, we were watching. He did a great job…What kind of question, exactly? Because I’ve got to tell you if this is anything like the time—okay, okay! Tell me as much as you can about what’s going on.”

 

*To be continued in Part Three.*


	3. Chapter 3

3\. Sam and Hannah

Saturday April 14, 2007  
Home of Sam Seaborn and Hannah Jennings  
1:23am

He carefully eased the door shut behind him, not daring to turn on the foyer light for fear of waking her. Setting his briefcase beside the door, he began to feel his way through the dark towards the stairs, only to have his shin collide with the umbrella stand a moment later. 

“Damn it!” he yelped as the stand teetered precariously, then crashed sideways onto the hardwood floor. Tensing, he waited, irrationally hoping that the commotion had gone unnoticed.

“Sam, is that you?” Hannah's sleep roughened voice called out from upstairs. 

Giving up on the pretense of stealth, he wearily replied, “Yeah, it's me,” before reaching for the light switch and climbing the stairs. 

Pausing in the bedroom doorway, he shut off the hallway light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the inky dark of the bedroom before moving. “Sorry about the noise downstairs.” The familiar shapes of their furniture gradually materialized out of the darkness, and he could just make out Hannah's form where it reclined beneath the bedcovers. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“You should've turned on a light, Sam.” As if to emphasize her point, she rolled onto her side and reached for the bedside lamp.

Sam found himself blinking furiously at the unexpected intrusion of light as he started to rid himself of the day’s clothes. Hannah leaned back against the pillows, watching his movements with a distracted interest. “Everything's all right at work?”

“For the moment, yes. I'm going to need to go in for a while tomorrow, though.” 

“You mean today.” Off his look of confusion, she clarified, “Technically, it's Saturday morning already, so you actually need to go back to work later today.”

“Hannah...” he sighed heavily, wishing desperately he could avoid the conversation he knew was coming. 

“You haven't been home before midnight once this week.”

“I know. It's going to get better.”

“Sam, you've been in office for over three months now. Exactly when can I expect ‘better’ to arrive?”

Carelessly dropping his dress shirt onto the floor, he began agitatedly working at his belt buckle. “It takes as long as it takes, Hannah. This isn't a job that I can do half way; it's one of the most important positions I'm likely to hold in this lifetime, and I'm going to be damn sure I give it my best.”

“And I want to understand that, Sam, I truly do, but at this point you can't fault me for questioning just where it is that I fit into all of this.” 

“You encouraged me to accept the appointment! You know I would never have said yes if you hadn't supported the decision!” he exploded, stepping out of the puddle of his pants where they lay on the floor and approaching the bed. 

“I did! I still do! But I don't want to plan this wedding by myself, Sam, nor do I want to be alone in this marriage! I need to know that you want this as much as I do,” she finished softly. 

Climbing onto the mattress, he reached for her and was relieved when she permitted him to pull her with him to recline against the headboard. “Of course I want this as much as you do. I love you,” he said, punctuating the proclamation with a gentle kiss against her temple. “And yes, while this job is something that deserves my best work, you,” he said squeezing her tightly against his chest, “have become the most important person in my life, who I intend to give my absolute personal best to. I'm sorry that I haven't been very good at proving it to you the past few months.”

She weighed his words for several long minutes before deciding to accept the apology, and allowing herself to relax more fully against him. “Just promise me it won't always be like this.”

“I promise,” he responded, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at the ease with which the platitude had fallen from his lips. 

Reaching up, she kissed him lightly on the chin before pulling away to re-settle herself under the covers. “C’mon, Sam, you need to get some sleep.” 

Silently, he reached over to switch off the light, again plunging the room into darkness. Hunkering down, he pulled the sheets over his chest, trapping the hem under his arms as he lay on his back, staring blankly into the black void.

 

*To be concluded in Part Four.*


	4. Chapter 4

4\. Toby

Tuesday June 26, 2007  
Arlington, Virginia  
2:23pm

He paused to lift the watermarked page from the table yet again, his eyes scanning the words for the umpteenth time in an ongoing effort to counter his disbelief. 

_It is with great pleasure... offer you a position as Associate Professor...Columbia University…School of International and Public Affairs…for the Fall 2007 semester._

With a flick of the wrist, he sent the page fluttering across the tabletop, watched as it silently skimmed over the waxed surface until it collided with a haphazard stack of unopened mail. Closing his eyes tiredly, Toby stroked the crest of his brow as his thoughts resumed their restless dance. 

Heaving a sigh, he reached for the cordless to dial a familiar number. “Yeah, is the Congresswoman available? Yes, Toby Zeigler... Thank you.”

“Toby?” Andy's voice, laced with concern, clicked onto the line a minute later. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine. I'm picking up the kids in an hour,” he assured as he folded himself into the nearest chair.

“Okay...” she drawled slowly, fiddling absently with a pen as she worked to discern the reason for his uncharacteristic call. “What's up?” 

“I got the mail today.”

“You get the mail every day.” 

“Yes, but I don't receive letters from Columbia University everyday.”

“Ah,” she said, attempting to keep her voice neutral despite a sudden fluttering in her stomach. “What did it say?”

“They've offered me a position for the fall semester.”

“That's great!” she exclaimed, her happiness bubbling over and making her feel slightly light-headed. Her words were met, however, with a weighty, disconcerting silence that quickly soured any relief she had felt. “Isn't it?” she queried hesitantly. 

Toby, staring vacantly ahead, swallowed slowly as he mulled over her question. “I'd have to move,” was the non-response he finally came up with. 

“Unless you want to spend over 40 hours a week on a train or in an airport, yes, you would.”

“I wouldn't be able to see Huck and Molly as often.”

“No, but you'd have weekends, semester breaks, and summer holidays. It's New York, Toby, not Timbuktu.”

“I don't know if I'm okay with that,” he whispered tightly as his eyes strayed to a photograph of both children, his heart constricting as he took in their joyous, carefree smiles.

Andy pursed her lips. “And I don't know if I'm okay with you staying.”

“Excuse me?” he said with barely restrained anger.

Taking his wrath in stride, she nevertheless considered her next words carefully, all too aware of the effect they would have on his already fragile psyche. “I think you need to get out of Washington for a while, Toby. Get away from politics and find your bearings without the whole of the city watching your every move.”

“I really don’t think my activities garner that much attention anymore, from either my enemies or my friends.”

Wishing she could, yet unwilling to provide the sugar-coated reply she knew would help ease his mind, she answered simply, “They do.”

He merely grunted in response. 

“Just...think about it for a few days before you make up your mind, okay?” she implored. 

“This isn't only about what I want, Andy.”

“Of course it isn't, and I do love that you feel that way. But right now I think this has to be about what's best for you, which may or may not be compatible with what you actually want to do. You can't hide out in that apartment of yours forever, Toby, and realistically, the chances of something working out for you professionally in DC right now...” 

“I know,” he conceded, echoes of their recent heated discussions on the matter floating through his mind. “But I'm not willing to make this decision by myself.”

Andy sank back into her chair, a relived smiled turning the corners of her mouth. “Okay, then. How about dinner Friday night? You can spend some time with the kids, and we can talk things over once they're asleep.”

“Sure. I'll come by around six?”

“We'll see you then.”

Taking the phone from his ear, he disconnected the call. Receiver still in hand, he circled around the table, reaching out to retrieve the University's letter and review it's contents yet again, hoping that this time it might yield the answers that had been eluding him for months.

 

*fin.*


End file.
